Once a Month
by SnowGirl098
Summary: My take on the disaster that is canon.
1. Chapter 1

I was watching the Finchel interaction on this week's episode of Glee and couldn't stand how happy Rachel looked with Finn (nothing against Rachel's happiness, but SHE BELONGS WITH JESSE AND SHE KNOWS THIS), so...this came about. I figured it was more or less within Rachel's personality to do something like this (though you guys' confirmation would be nice!).

And to the readers of my other story, I'm so sorry! My mom's computer crashed and all the data was lost, including my typed up chapters for the story as well as my English and History essays. (My iTunes library was lost too, though that's probably only a big deal to me. However, if anyone can tell me how to put all the info on my iPod onto my newly downloaded library without risk of losing all my songs, that would be nice.) I had to rewrite my essays first (because school above fanfiction, sadly) and am still in the process of REWRITING the entire story, which might take awhile, depending on how nice school decides to be with me. The good part though, is my mom paid me forty dollars for losing all my data (that _she_ didn't lose, but don't tell her that) and I've bought two new flashdrives! So this will never happen again.

* * *

One day a month. That was all she allowed herself.

She lay in bed, curled in a ball, eating carrot sticks. One day a month, she played all the sad, romantic songs she owned on loop and allowed herself to wish for what could never be.

_What never _was_ either_, she bitterly reminds herself.

She should have known it was too good to be true. Sure, she'd doubted it during those first few days, but afterwards, she'd given him everything.

Yes, _everything_.

She'd let him have what she never let anyone before him have, what no one else would, _could_ ever have. She'd given it to him along with her heart, and what did he do with both?

He crushed them like the floor right before the stage performance of 'Stomp.'

Sure, at the time he'd held her and whispered in her ear everything she'd ever wanted to hear, but what were those except sweet nothings, uttered during the high following love-making?

What still stung was that she'd believed those sweet nothings.

He'd been so gentle. For someone who was always so commandeering and imperious, he'd surprised her by letting her take the reigns. He'd let her make the calls, and touched her as if she were porcelain, his caresses barely a whisper. And his gaze had been so intense when he'd told her he loved her that she'd been fool enough to believe him.

In retrospect, she isn't sure how it happened. All she remembers is singing along with a woman who was no questioningly her mother and then taking a bus all the way to Akron, Ohio. She didn't remember feeling happy, or sad; she didn't remember feeling anything at all. She'd been on autopilot, not realizing what she was doing until he'd opened the door.

She remembers she'd flung herself into his arms, _feeling_ for the first time since they'd found the tape.

Yet, even in the safe confines of his arms, she hadn't cried. She'd hardly made a sound, but still he'd held her and rocked her and asked no questions. It must have been a record thirty minutes before she'd said something, and even then, she spoke only his name, "Jesse." He'd looked at her then, and she remembers that it was _she_ who kissed _him_. _She_ had been the one to reach for the hem of _his_ shirt.

And he'd stopped her. He'd stopped and asked her if she truly wanted this. That was when she realized what she was doing.

Even so, she'd gone through with it. She remembers looking into the blue eyes that had charmed her with their arrogant glint during their first meeting, and upon seeing that glint replaced with conflicting emotions of apprehension and desire, she'd thought, _this is it_.

The next couple of hours had flown by in a blur of heated kisses and delicate brushes.

She remembers experiencing heaven (from him touching her) and hell (from him not touching her) and everything in-between in those few hours, and wondering how a person could go from feeling nothing to feeling everything in such a short span of time.

She hasn't let anyone get that close to her again.

Namely Finn.

She knows what Finn wants, and she knows that he 'suffers,' but she can't bring herself to do it. She'd thought that, after the first time, it would be easy. She would be able to see it as a physical act, a joining of a female and male in a routine that had been executed for centuries.

She'd been wrong.

No matter how much she willed herself to, she couldn't give herself to Finn the way she'd given herself to Jesse. And as much as she tried to convince herself that the reason for her not putting out was because she was afraid of getting hurt again, she knew it wasn't entirely true. Mostly, it was because she felt she was cheating on Jesse. Which was absurd since _he_ was the one who'd betrayed _her_. _He_ had been the one to crack an egg on _her_ forehead and _he_ had lured her out to the parking lot where said egg-cracking took place.

He'd _known_ she would come. She had no doubt of that.

And those last, fateful words, _I loved you_, what had he meant? To add salt to her wounds? To confirm that their 'relationship' had ended? That he'd moved on?

Or had he been trying to get her to see something beyond the words? She thought she had spotted something along the lines of desperation in his eyes and tone, but she knew that was wishful thinking on her part.

Desperate, and any other form or synonym of the word, was foreign to Jesse St. James's vocabulary.

Yet she'd longed to believe the words. She'd wanted, with all of the shattered remains of her heart, to believe that there had been some part, some tiny, long-forsaken part of their relationship that had been real.

She'd held onto that hope until Regionals. Where two beautiful, thin, large-breasted small-nosed girls clinging to him dug their stiletto heels into it.

She'd been about to leave when he'd looked at her.

Well, she _thinks_ he looked at her.

And it had taken every ounce of self-control that she'd had not to run onto the stage just to confirm if he had. Because if he had, it meant that he could still pick her out in a crowd, meant that _she_ had left enough of an impression for him to still be able to pick her out in a crowd.

It meant that she'd meant something to him.

She wants to believe he did—that _she_ did—because she's the kind of girl who lives off hope.

And because he meant something to her. He meant a lot, actually. (He still does, once a month.)

But looking at her clock, she sees that it is nearing 6:00 p.m. and reminds herself that Jesse is long gone. She has Finn now, and tomorrow, starting at 8:00 a.m., she has the role of 'happy-go-lucky Rachel Berry, girlfriend of Finn Hudson' to fill. And aside from putting out, she's to be the best girlfriend she can be.

So she checks her calendar to plan the day next month she'll indulge herself, because to keep up the perfect show face she's been displaying since Regionals, she needs at least one day off to go through the build-up of thoughts about the boy who taught it to her.

* * *

Because I'm also the kind of girl who lives off hope. And I'm hoping that, when Ryan Murphy said that Finn and Rachel would be together for the duration of the second season, he only meant 'officially,' which gives St. Berry the chance to steal a few kisses (or more) here and there. Because, let's face it, the idea of an illicit affair is so much more dramatic and romantic than a relationship that isn't.

Having said that, I think it can be inferred that I AM NOT RYAN MURPHY. And for those who still don't get it, I DO NOT OWN GLEE. The chances of me owning Glee are less than the chances of Jonathan Groff waking up one day and thinking, "Screw labels. I'm in love with Lea." (Although, the chances of that are actually pretty high, does that mean the chances of me owning Glee are growing?)


	2. Chapter 2

I wrote this really late last night (or really early this morning, I don't actually remember), and realized this morning that some things didn't really make sense, so I'm redoing this the right

This idea has actually been in my head for awhile. I wanted to post it last week when THEY DIDN'T MENTION ST. BERRY IN THE WEDDING EPISODE, but now I'm glad I waited because the idea I have for this fits so much better now. Is it just me, or is Glee trying to ruin its two main characters? Seriously, I actually really liked Mr. Schuester in season one, in this season he just annoys me and makes me want to cringe.

As to why I haven't updated anything in awhile, it's not because I'm not writing (I am), I just don't have the means to type or update it. Since my mom's computer broke, my mom, my dad, my younger brother, and I have had to share one computer, and the limited time that I have on that one computer is dedicated to school. I actually typed this during Physics yesterday when we were supposed to be working on our bio-chemistry essay, but I was super pissed at this week's episode that I ended up typing and tweaking this to incorporate the canon. Good news is, tomorrow, since I feel really guilty and have time, I plan on posting more chapters to this that I wrote. Also, I'm getting my own laptop next week and will promptly update the chapters I have on Andrews Academy.

Thanks to all the alerts and favorites I've gotten, although reviews are also welcome. I'd really like to hear your guys' thoughts on this, even if it's one four letter word that starts with 'h,' ends with 'e,' and has an 'at' in the middle.

Disclaimer: I don't own.

* * *

What. The. Hell.

That's all she can think. And who can blame her really? What else is a person supposed to think when facing an ex, specifically, an ex that cracked an egg on said person's head?

She doesn't realize she said it aloud until he replies, "Well, greetings to you too."

It takes her a couple seconds to regain her bearings (_What the _hell_ is he doing here? Why isn't he at UCLA? He looks good; the sun has obviously treated him well…_) and even then, all she manages to do is stammer his name, "J-Jesse?"

As if he could read her thoughts, he smirks and answers, "Winter break," and she feels like she's been zapped into one of the trashy cliché teen movies she hides behind her Barbra shrine, because really? What are the chances? They're in a coffee shop, she's holding her usual soy latte, and he just ordered his black—and if she remembers correctly, he'll put in two cubes of sugar and stir for a full thirty seconds before adding milk, instead of just putting everything in at once and then stirring for however long is necessary as she had insisted normal people do, to which he had shot her a look that'd clearly meant, _You know normal?_—and across the street is the music shop that they had met in around this time last year. It's all so cliché and _common _that she barely resists pinching herself, because Rachel Berry is anything but common, as his expression at the time of the coffee condiment debate unmistakably verified. Common constitutes average, and Rachel Berry is most definitely _not _average.

"Apparently, it's a child's obligation to complete the picture of a happy, stable family around the holiday season while the parents' obligation is to throw parties, get drunk, and then fly off to who knows where?" he continues, and though his tone is lightly sarcastic, she can see the darkening of his eyes and hear the bitter undertones. This change in him brings back memories when the difference was less pronounced, and she almost feels sorry for him.

Almost.

She nods because she isn't sure what else to do. Her head is reeling from memories, both good and bad, and the conflicting emotions have rendered her speechless. Vaguely, some small corner of her brain reminds her that this is the second time they've met where she can't seem to form a coherent sentence without stuttering in front of him. Perhaps it's the location, perhaps it's the time of year, or perhaps it's the complete déjà vu of it all.

Or maybe it's just him. This sends her into a whole new debate inside her head.

Suddenly he asks, "Are you going to browse music again?" and it takes her a moment to realize he's referring to the music store across the street that had, at one time, been _their_ music store.

"Yes," she answers, and surprises herself, because she hasn't been able to step inside that store since a certain egging. It's a shame really; that store had always been her favorite.

"Yeah me too. For a small store in Ohio, it's got a pretty good collection." _Of what,_ she almost adds, _Music or memories?_ "Care to join me?"

She nods and waits for him to get his coffee so they can leave. She's not sure why; all she knows is that she really misses that music store but she hasn't been able to go in alone, or with anyone for that matter. She briefly recalls when she and Finn had driven by and he'd mentioned going in to work on their glee assignment and she'd said the first lame excuse that came to her head.

He hadn't noticed. Rachel Berry was _always_ in the mood for music.

She hadn't been able to go in with her dads either. Unlike Finn, they'd actually noticed, but hadn't asked questions. Now, looking at it through the window, she waits for the familiar feeling of _need to get away ASAP_ to come.

It doesn't come. And before she gets the chance to reassess, he's pulling her out the door and across the street.

While he's pulling her, she allows herself to smile, just a little, because she'd predicted right. Two cubes, thirty seconds, then milk.

Good to know some things never changed.

* * *

She's holding a _Sound of Music_ 10th anniversary special edition DVD, but she's not really seeing it, because _she is standing in the music store. _She's actually _inside_. It's a wonder she's not jumping up and down screaming.

She'd expected something to come over her upon crossing the threshold, a moment of _welcome back_ or _it's good to be home_, but there hadn't been one; in fact, it'd been utterly simple. His hand on her back, gently guiding her, the smell of coffee surrounding them; besides feeling an old familiarity, it'd been completely simple.

Still, one look at the shelves upon shelves of great classics and new-works-of-genius-bound-to-become-classics and she was on cloud nine.

His voice in her ear disrupts her from her reverie and she turns around to find him holding My Passion for Design, the new and first ever book by Barbra Streisand. And then she is jumping up and down screaming and attracting the attention of every person in the store, among which, are some looks that undoubtedly articulate 'crazy,' but she really couldn't care less because she has been waiting for that book to become available online for _months_ and here it is in front of her.

She throws her arms around him and then grabs it out of his hand, completely forgetting the DVD in her hand.

"Oh my god, do you know what this _is_?"

"Um, Barbra Streisand's latest book on her views of art and architecture?"

She looks at him like he's an idiot.

"It is not her _latest_ book, it is the _first_ book she has _ever_ written, and it not only contains her views on art and architecture and furniture and landscaping, it incorporates how she came to her views through her life experiences in film and music throughout her career." She says all this in one breath and he is once again amazed at how fast she can talk and her strange ability to not have to breathe when speaking.

"Okaaaay…..mm-hm."

She frowns. "You're laughing at me."

He smiles, a genuine, not cocky, not mischievous, amused smile. "Nope, just entertained by your antics."

"Well," she huffs, "I'm glad you find my happiness so entertaining. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a book to buy."

He watches her walk off, as dramatic as ever with her head high and defiant, and he chuckles as he picks up the forgotten DVD.

"Sorry Julie, she loves you, but she's obsessed with Barbra, to the point where there is probably a formal diagnosis for it."

Some things never changed.

* * *

She's walking towards the register when she sees it.

It's still there. In the same position, despite the rearrangement of some other parts of the store. There's a shelf in front of it now that hadn't been there a year before, so it's concealed, and someone else is playing the black and white keys, but the scene is painfully familiar and she can't help but stop and stare.

There's a boy of about fourteen sitting at the piano and there's girl of about the same age sitting to his right. They're both singing softly as the boy plays and she barely makes out the words to _All for Love_. Bryan Adams, Rod Stewart, and Sting, she thinks, three iconic, distinct voices.

She doesn't realize he's behind her, and he wants to keep it that way, for the time being.

He'd seen her stop to look at something and he'd been about to joke that there was actually something in the world that could stop her from buying Barbra Streisand's first ever book when she took him by surprise. Or rather, they took him by surprise.

He'd known the piano would be there—that piano held memories for him too—but he hadn't expected someone else to be playing it.

Watching someone else get lost in the world of music, at that particular piano, he feels almost territorial. They'd held many impromptu concerts there, so many that they, the employees, and the rest of the frequenters of the store had come to know it as _their_ piano. People had come up to them and asked when they'd next perform and they'd always laughingly told the little crowd that had gathered that they didn't know. Somewhere along the line, they'd gotten into the habit of planning their songs and actually scheduling practice sessions at their piano with the manager.

The scene in front of him brings him back to the present and reminds him that it's not theirs anymore. And before he allows himself to, he says, "We were better."

She hadn't heard him approach, and he's so quiet she barely hears him, but his breath reaches her neck, causing goosebumps to form up and down her arms.

She doesn't reply. Probably middle-schoolers, she thinks. Either early high school or late middle school students first discovering the early stages of love, and as much as she feels like she's intruding, a suddenly overwhelming feeling of nostalgia crashes into her, and she vaguely wonders if this was the _coming home_ feeling she'd expected earlier.

It has damn good timing, she sarcastically notes.

Still, she doesn't move, and when the boy and the girl finish the song, they watch as the boy shyly asks if he can kiss her. The girl blushes and nods and it's obvious that this is the first kiss for both of them but the scene is so painfully sweet and innocent that she has to turn away.

She doesn't realize her eyes are watering until the image of him is no longer clear, but she can still tell that he's watching her with that same, assessing gaze that had somehow always comforted her and made her squirm.

And she's terrified. Because she can't read him, and the fact that she can't see clearly isn't helping.

So she turns and runs. She makes her way over to the register, slams all the money in her pocket down, and runs, barely telling the cashier to keep the change.


	3. Chapter 3

**PLEASE NOTE:** I know that in the wedding episode, Rachel says she didn't sleep with Jesse, but this is fiction, and in my mind and this story, she _did_ sleep with Jesse, after the Madonna episode. So for the sake of this fic, please pretend that Rachel said, "I didn't sleep with Jesse that time. I lied to make you jealous. I actually slept with him after he came back, when Bryan Ryan was trying to crush our dreams." And then Finn says, "Oh. It's okay." And then, instead of having her talk about saving it for each other, she says, "I just want us to have an honest relationship. No secrets."

Also, since I don't think I've made it clear, they are meeting on a Saturday, most likely December 18th, though that date may change since I only have a general idea of where I'm taking this story.

Disclaimer: I don't own. If I did, this would be happening and Rachel wouldn't be singing Christmas songs with longing looks in Finn's direction, especially since RACHEL IS JEWISH.

* * *

She's freaking out in her car because _he isn't supposed to be here_. He isn't supposed to be here, making her feel like this. The only places he's allowed to be are L.A. and inside her head, and that's only allowed once a month.

She's reaching for her phone to fulfill the role of perfect girlfriend before she realizes her guilt is unnecessary. She and Finn broke up. Or rather, he didn't tell her he _wasn't_ a virgin when she gave him the perfect opening, she cheated on him with Puck, and he broke up with her.

Along with this memory comes others of the crap-tastic week she's had so far, and she realizes that, somehow, Jesse had managed to make it all go away just by being there. Then again, he brought a whole other mess along with him, and now that all the messes are swirling around and mixing in her head, she wonders if the universe is out to get her.

She really needs an Advil.

As she peels out of the coffee shop parking lot, she sees him in her rear-view mirror. He's not smiling, or waving, or anything really. He's just standing at the door of the music store watching her drive away, yet this simple action of just _being there_ softens her, and she allows her self to bask in the fact that _he chased after her_. He chased after her even after she so rudely left him without warning.

Then again, it's not like he hadn't done the same thing. Only this time, she's the one driving away.

Revenge isn't as sweet as she'd thought it'd be.

When she gets home, the first thing she does is put on a show face for her fathers. It isn't a conscious decision; it's become habit over the last couple months. As much she loves her fathers and knows that she can talk to them about anything, she really doesn't feel like being questioned and feeling obligated to give answers about things she's spent months trying to make sense of with little to no success.

For instance, why she seemed unhappy with Finn when she claimed to love him.

It wasn't that she _didn't_ love him; he was just a little hard to put up with. She knows he didn't listen to her half the time, but he did try the other half of the time, and even if he just ended up confused, it's the trying that counts.

Right?

Regardless, she'd loved him because he was _Finn_. He was sweet and dumb, in an adorable way, and no matter how many times he'd hurt her, he never broke her heart.

He was _safe_.

Relationships can't be all sparks and fire, she thinks. The ones that are ultimately fizz out and all that's left are broken hearts and misplaced anger. Relationships also need security.

God, that sounds weak even to her ears. What happened to her? She remembers a time when she'd longed for a white night to sweep her off her feet and kiss her with the passion that Rhett did Scarlett in _Gone with the Wind_.

She'd gotten that, she remembers bitterly. And she'd found out that a broken heart hurts a lot more than they make it look or sound in movies and books. It hurts pretty damn bad actually, and she isn't looking for a repeat performance. And not just because she doesn't cry as prettily as Vivien Leigh.

So as her dads greet her with their usual warm smiles, her mouth turns up at the corners into what has become her default protective barrier, and she starts rambling because, well, that's what she does. She talks rapidly and pompously so as not give anyone reason to question her.

* * *

He thinks about heading home, then turns and goes back into the store. The girl and the boy are now standing at the register; she's holding a Bryan Adams greatest hits songbook and he's leafing through his wallet. The scene is so familiar that he nearly does a double take when it turns out the boy's hair isn't curly and the girl's hair is a light shade of chestnut instead of dark brown. What stops him is that both of them are so _shy_. Their hands are brushing each other but neither is actually bridging the gap, and he wants to scoff at them because it's so _simple_, bridging a gap, but he can't, because really? It's not simple. It's a leap of faith, and you can never be completely sure someone is going to catch you until you're actually falling, and then all the cards are in the other person's hands.

Jesse St. James has always held all the cards; he'd made sure of it. She was the one exception.

He hadn't even realized he'd jumped until he was falling. Jumping had never been in the plan. She was supposed to be a conquest, a detour on his road to stardom, until she somehow turned the tables on him and made him question the principles he'd always deemed faultless. Before her, he'd always thought of innocence as naïve and naivety as a weakness; hers had gone from endearing to enticing. He'd thought that the true beauty of music lied in its phrasing and articulation and that the emotional attachment in a song, while appreciated, was not enough to fully cement a song to greatness due to the volatile state of emotions; she'd made ordinary songs extraordinary and extraordinary songs unreal on a whim, when the mood suited her. Not to mention animal sweaters. God, he hasn't been able to look at one of those things without being reminded of her and feeling turned on.

She'd been everything he thought he knew and nothing he'd ever known.

He can still feel the ghost of her body pressed against him.

* * *

By evening, she's still fretting. She's already unnecessarily rearranged her entire book shelf to accommodate her new book—"I don't know daddy. I just thought that the Sondheim books looked better near the top and Barbra says here that a person's personal designs should be expressed at all times because they reflect the person."—and calculated three times that she lost twenty-three dollars and forty-four cents in change.

She wonders if she should calculate it a fourth time, you know, just to be sure she didn't make any mistakes the first three times—though she's already forgotten why she's even bothering to figure it out since she's never going to get the money back—when her phone beeps. She snatches her phone off her side table and a small squeal escapes her before she can suppress it (_He has my number. Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god, HE DIDN'T DELETE MY NUMBER!_).

She isn't able to suppress the pang of disappointment either when she sees it's a text.

'_You left $23.44, if you still want it.'_

Of course. What had she expected him to say? She had _run_ _away_ from him. Did she expect him to profess his undying love for her?

Oh god, she is an idiot.

What the hell had she been thinking? Just bolting like that? She'd always prided herself on having class. Even during her diva moments, she always stormed out with style. Why is it with him that she seems to forget all the standards she so acutely focuses on the rest of the time? He, despite being able to bring out the best in her, also manages to throw her completely off.

It's a full two minutes before she responds, and it's not even what she wants to say, but it nags at her because _she has to know_.

'_You still have my number?' _

She waits, and it feels like an eternity before his response comes, although the clock on her phone assures her that it hasn't been more than twenty seconds.

'_Yeah. You still want it?'_

She doesn't realize she's holding her breath until she finally breathes out at his text, and the hammering in her chest finally slows.

'_Yes, that would be nice.'_

'_Where do you want to meet?'_

'_You can drop it off here.'_

She briefly ponders if he still knows where she lives when her phone beeps again, putting an end to her question.

'_Be there around noon.'_

She sends a quick _'Ok'_ before it hits her. She's going to have to face him. Tomorrow. At noon. In _her_ _house_ no less.

Holy. Crap.

She debates whether or not she should apologize for running away right then and get it over with or wait until tomorrow to do it in person.

She settles on tomorrow. Hopefully by then, she'll have come up with a somewhat logical explanation.

It isn't until she's sitting in bed that night reading that she realizes he went and got her change for her.

It isn't until the room is dark and she's lying under the covers that she realizes she _did_ delete his number. And though she chooses to ignore the fact that she has it memorized and still recognized it after a whole year, she does reach for her phone and add him to her contact list again.

* * *

...

...review. Please?


	4. Chapter 4

Ok, so you guys probably hate me. I'm really sorry for not updating for so long! But I've been busy, then sick, then had writer's block. Plus, the last episode depressed me so much I just didn't know how to continue. But anyways, I woke up this morning and my mom told me school was canceled because of snow and I was all, " LASJFO;AI;JFASJF' JF AS'FJS" and then I went back to sleep. So when I woke up, I was super not-tired and hit with inspiration for this story. But you probably don't care about any of this. Moving on!

Thanks so much to northstar61 and breathlessnightxx for their input! Most of this chapter developed from northstar61's comment about how Finn totally just doesn't understand Rachel. Next chapter will include Rachel's fathers, and that mostly came from breathlessnightxx who was a HUGE help with that! So thanks so much you guys! I hope you haven't given up on this story because I DO finally have a plan for it.

Disclaimer: If I owned Glee, the latest episode wouldn't have been so sickening and I wouldn't have spiraled into a deep funk.

* * *

Well, who would have thought that Jesse St. James and Rachel Berry could go a full five minutes in the same room without speaking? Certainly not Rachel, who's sitting on the left end of the couch, the seat farthest away from the armchair currently being occupied by one Jesse St. James.

It's awkward, to say the least.

She's already offered him a drink and all the other refreshments a good hostess is supposed to offer and he's declined all of them with a monosyllabic answer. After which, she made no further attempt to start a conversation, and he certainly hasn't made any attempt, instead opting to sit where he is with an unreadable expression on his face.

She's glad her dads left before Jesse came. She's yet to tell them about the nature in which she and Jesse parted, and if they saw her and Jesse in their current state, they'd definitely know something was wrong, themselves having witnessed, on several occasions, the very animated nature of the conversations between Jesse and herself. Yesterday had been easier since they'd been on neutral ground, but today he's _in her house_ and that changes everything because they can't just talk about Barbra or Judy or Michael Crawford. There's too much of the past floating between them, and the memory of her dads catching them horizontal on the couch in this exact room with Jesse's hand up her shirt isn't helping at all.

It's clear to Rachel that they're supposed to come to some sort of closure about the past, but he has yet to make any significant remark and she has no idea what to say.

God, when had things gotten so difficult? Her life used to be so simple: get a boyfriend, win Nationals, star in a Broadway musical by the age of 20 and win a Tony by the age of 22. She'd been sure Finn would be the perfect boyfriend, and she'd been convinced they'd somehow make it work, with her being a Broadway star and him being a football player who also had a background in show choir. It would've made a wonderful story for her autobiography and biographies written by her devoted fans: high school sweethearts who, despite their differences and the separate paths they embarked upon to stardom, loved each other enough to make it work. After all, didn't many female Hollywood musicians have football-playing boyfriends or husbands?

Then Jesse had swooshed in, in all his flashy prestige and pompous arrogance.

He hadn't been her knight in shining armor per say, being more like the guy on the motorcycle who sweeps in with cool sunglasses, good hair, and swagger and uses them to charm the girl. But unlike the cliché (which, in hindsight, was undoubtedly Noah), Jesse had shared her dreams of being a star and her passion for music. He'd been traveling the same path as her, and it'd been all too easy to jump on the back of his motorcycle (well, Range Rover). He'd been the first person who really understood her. Not even her fathers—who, despite trying their best, were tone deaf—completely understood her ambition to be on stage. They supported her and listened to her and appreciated her drive and she loved them for it, but they never knew quite how to respond to her want of something completely foreign to them. But with Jesse, one of them could mention something, anything at all, and they'd be talking non-stop for hours (well, maybe not entirely non-stop; they may have made out a little in between). There had never been enough time for everything.

Now, there's more than enough time, too much time really, for _anything_ and it's tense and awkward and _he isn't_ _saying anything_. She hates him for it. She really hates him for it, because if he hadn't gone and smashed that stupid egg on her face, they wouldn't be like this. This strained, uncomfortable, _silent_ atmosphere is just not them.

She's fidgeting with the hem of her skirt when she notes that his posture is completely at ease, and she hates him just a little more because dammit, she _knows_ it's not just her who feels the strain, but somehow he conceals it so much better than her.

Eventually, he breaks the silence. "So where are your dads?"

She exhales softly before answering, "Daddy works Thursdays to Sundays now, and Dad is meeting with a client."

He nods, recalling that Hiram Berry worked as a pediatrician, though he used to work Mondays through Thursdays, and that Leroy Berry was an architect.

It becomes silent again, and she really just wants to ask for her money and kick him out because _she can't stand this_, but that would be rude. Fortunately, he speaks again before she finishes weighing the pros and cons.

"What happened at Sectionals?"

She looks up sharply at him. "Huh?"

"Why the hell did you and Jared Gaither, but mostly you, not get solos?"

"You were at Sectionals?" She pauses a beat. "Who's Jared Gaither?"

"Yes, and Jared Gaither," he rolls his eyes at her, "is an extremely tall oafish NFL player. I figured you'd know that since you're the one dating a football player."

"Oh," she says. She may have heard his name once or twice, though she isn't sure. She still doesn't completely understand what the NFL is either, but the mention of Sectionals reminds her of Mr. Schue's stupidity at not giving her a solo and she feels the anger and frustration bubble up inside of her because she _knows_ they would've won instead of settling for a draw if she'd sung lead. And despite the fact that she's happy Kurt is now going to be at Regionals with them, she is still mostly mad that Quinn and _Santana_ had gotten the female lead solos. Sure, take the solo away from her, but also Mercedes (who had a good voice, just not as good as herself) and even Tina (she may not be top-notch, but she was still loads better than Santana and Quinn combined)! Who'd ever heard of suppressing the best singers in a singing _competition_?

"Mr. Schue decided he'd mix things up and give the solos to Quinn and Sam, who won the duet competition at the beginning of the year, _only_ because Finn and I voted for them instead of ourselves—which, by the way, everyone else did—to convince Sam to join New Directions because Matt transferred over the summer, which I still don't get why he did. I mean, honestly, you would think that after a whole school year with us, he wouldn't just jump at the chance of getting a football scholarship! He _knew_ we needed twelve members to compete and he left anyway! What kind of person does that? I mean, he abandoned a good group of people just to selfishly further his career! Doesn't he know we all want to get out of Ohio? Who does he think he is…" she trailed off, suddenly realizing the parallels she'd just voiced.

He watched as the anger in her tirade built up, knowing she needed to rant. He, however, sees where she's going long before she gets there, and runs a hand tiredly through his hair when she arrives at the end and all the anger that fueled her monologue seems to dissipate.

He waits a beat, and when she remains silent, asks, "Who's Sam?"

She says quietly, "The blond guy that sang with Quinn. He on the football team with Finn and Noah."

He nods and watches her fidget with her hands in her lap. Her head is tilted down and she refuses to meet his eyes.

Finally, he sighs. "What do you want from me Rachel? An apology?"

Her gaze snaps up to meet his, and it isn't a pleasant one. "Well it'd be a start!"

"Did you apologize to me for the 'Run Joey Run' thing?"

"Of course I did!" They both know it's a knee-jerk reaction and within a second a confused look settles on her face as she tries to recall whether or not she'd really apologized.

"No, you didn't. You tried to justify your actions, but you didn't apologize."

"I left you about 1,000 messages! All of which—"

"—said either, 'Please come back,' 'We need to talk,' or something else along that line. Or they furthered your justification. Face it Rachel, you don't like admitting you're wrong and that's what an apology is."

"So what? There is nothing wrong with wanting to be right!"

"Then why are you hell-bent on making me out to be the bad guy?" She paused and looked at him. "Look Rachel, I regret what I did, ok? There probably was a better way to handle it, but I'm not sorry it got me out of Ohio! I've worked my entire life for that one goal, and I wasn't about to throw 18 years' worth of work out the door." He paused for a second, remembering the words she'd used. "As a fellow star in the making, you should understand that."

It's only then that she realizes she really did hurt him. She's looking at him and his bitterness at the event remains evident in his eyes. Perhaps she had hurt more than just his ego. And now that she thinks about it, she hadn't apologized; they'd kind of just moved past it. Well, she thought they'd moved past it; it's obvious now that they hadn't and it played a part in the whole egging debacle.

Still, had it been wrong of her? She's always had a need to be popular, but lately, it's become painfully obvious that she's lost more than she's gained by listening to that little voice. And it hits her then that Jesse was the only person, aside from her fathers, who may have liked her—she still doesn't know if the whole thing was a set-up—for who she was. That little voice that had told her to do the 'Run Joey Run' video hadn't reared its head until outside forces had interfered.

Seeing him now, however, with his show face temporarily down, she knows she should have thought through her actions before acting on them. It's a flaw of hers that's apparently hurt more people than she thought, so instead of trying to justify her actions again, she whispers, "I'm sorry."

He looks so taken aback she almost laughs.

"I never meant to hurt you," she continues softly, "and I'm sorry that I did."

It takes a few seconds, but he eventually nods his head and says "Ok."

But he isn't the only one with his piece to say, so she continues, saying, "That doesn't change the fact that you _did _intend to hurt me." His eyes lock onto hers and he might as well be trying to bore a hole into her head, but they both know he can't deny it. "You used _eggs_, and you _knew_ I was a vegan. So for reasons both including and excluding 'Run Joey Run,' you wanted to hurt me," she says this with a strange calmness she didn't know she had, almost as if she was anticipating the storm to come. "So now my question is, what exactly did I do to make you hate me so much?"

He doesn't answer. He just stares at her for a long moment before looking away, and she's getting impatient because she's waited almost a whole year (nine months, three weeks, and two days, but who's counting?) for some answers, so she prods, "Jesse?"

He laughs after a moment, and it isn't a pleasant sound. It's a hoarse, sarcastic laugh that kind of makes her stomach lurch. "You want the truth?" She hesitates, then nods. "You really want the truth?" She nods again, her gaze never wavering from his. "Ok, I hated that you made me care. I hated that _you_, of all people, with your animal sweaters and your crazy quirks and the fact that you were on an opposing glee club, understood me. I hated that you hurt me, that you had the ability to hurt me. And I hated that, somehow, you went from an acting exercise to one of the most important people in my life. Damn it Rachel, do you know how much that scared me? That you could hurt me without even meaning to? It fucking terrified me! God, I started reconsidering my whole life, everything I'd ever worked for! I hadn't cared about someone, really cared about someone since, I don't know, fourth grade? And all you had to do was walk in and suddenly I cared!"

She's listening to this and she can't believe her ears. She's pretty sure if her face weren't frozen from shock her jaw would've fallen off by now. But his breathing is labored and the frustration is written all over his face and she realizes, yes, he's telling the truth.

He had really cared for her. For the past year she'd wondered if there was a reason behind his spiteful "I loved you" because really, why would anyone say any form of that phrase with such venom? But now she realizes she may have complicated his life more than he did hers.

_He really had cared for her_. The thought kind of makes her want to jump up and down, but seeing as that wouldn't be appropriate since he's sitting not four feet away looking miserable, she opts for "I'm sorry," again (she really isn't, because _he actually cared for her_).

He laughs another hollow laugh and doesn't look at her.

They sit that way for a good 15 minutes, both pondering the outcome of their meeting, when the phone rings, startling both of them out of their thoughts.

When she doesn't move, he tells her, "You should get that."

She nods and walks over to pick up the phone. "Hello?"

"Hey sweetie, I'm picking your father up from the clinic and we're going by Gardenia's to pick up dinner. Do you want anything in particular?"

"No thanks, I'll have whatever you have."

"Ok; we'll see you in about half an hour."

"Bye daddy." She hangs up and looks over to Jesse. "My dads are going to be home soon."

He nods. "I should probably get going."

"Yeah…" she trails off and watches as he takes out five bills and six coins and sets them on the coffee table.

They walk to the door in silence, but just before he leaves, he turns and says, "I'm sorry," looking her straight in the eye.

She watches him for a moment before realizing she's already forgiven him. Because as much as it hurt at the time, she understands why he did it. How many times had she done things on an emotional whim? How many times had she bypassed the consequences of her actions and regretted them afterward? Granted, she'd never egged someone, but she did send a poor girl to a crack house.

She figures if people can forgive her for such actions, she should extend the same courtesy, so she tells him, "I forgive you."

He raises his eyebrows but doesn't question her, and she almost laughs at the irony of the situation, because honestly? If there's one thing she's learned today it's that she and Jesse St. James really have more in common than she could've ever imagined.

She wonders if that makes her just as bad as him.

Or maybe it makes him just as good as her; she really can't tell without someone other than them in the comparison.

But when he reaches his car and looks back to see her standing in the doorway, she's smiling at him. Not the overly exuberant smile she is so well-known for, but a small, thoughtful smile.

She waves a little, and he waves back and then he's smiling too, a small quirk at the corners of his mouth. And though he doesn't notice, she does.

* * *

I didn't mean for them to be so confrontational; it just kind of took on a life of its own. But I figured if they really wanted to progress in their 'relationship' they had to get past all the "You hurt me!" "You hurt me first!" "Blah blah blah" stuff.

But anyways! What did you think? Did you like it? Hate it? Any suggestions as to how they should go from here? ***Remember! **Next chapter will include Rachel's dads!*****


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